Culture
A mysterious illness halted his promising NHL career. Eight years later, hope and a comeback
The game was already won when the puck slid to Cody Hodgson for the tap-in.
The Milwaukee Admirals of the American Hockey League, the Nashville Predators’ top minor league affiliate, had a comfortable 3-0 lead over the Chicago Wolves. On a historic win streak — they were en route to their 18th consecutive victory — the Admirals juggled their lines.
Off of a rush chance in the final minute, Predators prospect Juuso Pärssinen pulled off a slick toe-drag deke and waited patiently for a lane to open up. Then he feathered a perfect pass to Hodgson for the goal.
As the Wolves goaltender broke his stick against the post, Hodgson’s Admirals teammates mobbed him. Captain Kevin Gravel went to the net front to retrieve the puck. Netminder Yaroslav Askarov skated nearly the length of the ice to celebrate with his teammates.
And as the seemingly over-the-top celebration for a 4-0 goal unfolded, Hodgson didn’t think about the 2,920 days that had elapsed since he last scored a goal in a professional hockey game.
Hodgson didn’t think about the mysterious illness that caused him to walk away from the game. Or the tests for lung cancer, brain cancer and liver cancer that he’d endured in a fruitless quest to figure out what was making him sick.
He wasn’t thinking about the months of on-ice work and yoga and a grueling weight-loss regimen that led him to this point.
He wasn’t even feeling the blunt soreness of the broken rib he had sustained in his first professional game after his long layoff.
All he was thinking about was the gimme pass he’d just received.
“If I hadn’t scored on that one,” Hodgson joked, “I might’ve had to shut it down.”
Back in the locker room, Gravel gave the puck to Admirals equipment trainers and an informal debate broke out about what to write on the tape that’s commonly used to wrap milestone pucks in hockey.
“That was the joke in the room when we gave him the puck. ‘What do we call this?’ I suggested ‘Second First Pro Goal,’ but we were laughing about it after the game,” Gravel said.
“First goal in a very, very long time,” was another suggestion, but it was too many words.
So Hodgson posed with an unwrapped game puck.
If the milestone was undefined, it was still significant.
As a younger man, Hodgson had been one of the NHL’s brightest young stars. He was a top-10 draft pick of the Vancouver Canucks and set scoring records on a line with Toronto Maple Leafs superstar John Tavares at the World Junior Hockey Championship. For a time, he was one of the highest-rated prospects in the sport.
His professional career, however, was set back by injuries early, including a bulging disc in his back that he sustained during the season he turned 20. He was eventually productive in Vancouver, but struggled to cement himself in the lineup. At the 2013 NHL trade deadline, Hodgson was dealt to the Buffalo Sabres in a surprising trade. In Buffalo, Hodgson quickly became one of Buffalo’s most productive forwards, leading the club in scoring in the 2013-14 campaign, after which he signed a six-year, $25 million contract.
Cody Hodgson, pictured in his rookie season with teammates Henrik and Daniel Sedin at the NHL All-Star Skills Competition in January 2012. (Jeff Vinnick / NHLI via Getty Images)
Suddenly, however, Hodgson’s career derailed. Following up on the 20-goal, 44-point season that secured Hodgson that big extension, he managed just 13 points the next year. He was becoming conscious of repetitive muscle strain and shortness of breath. He was fighting for his career, and battling through an illness that appeared to be worsening.
Bought out by the Sabres, Hodgson caught on with the Predators. And his symptoms worsened.
“It’s a scary feeling waking up in the middle of the night and your lungs aren’t working and you can’t breathe in,” Hodgson said. “Your body is shaking, you get super hot, you can’t stand up without passing out. I was on about five different medications for blood pressure, and muscle relaxants, everything you can name.
“I knew there was no way I could possibly play.”
In addition to the extreme susceptibility to temperature and struggles breathing, Hodgson was dealing with repeated muscle strains.
“I couldn’t shoot, my mechanics weren’t the same, my skating was stiff,” he said. “I couldn’t turn, I’d torn all these muscles in my neck, and below my shoulders, and throughout my whole body, and for no reason. The muscles were just tearing.”
“He was skating with me in the summer, but he would be really sick,” said Brad Wheeler, Hodgson’s longtime trainer and coach. “He’d say stuff like, ‘I can’t hold a hockey stick,’ or ‘I can’t skate,’ or ‘I feel like I’m going to die.’”
By December of his sixth professional season, Hodgson was out of the NHL. By January he was out of professional hockey entirely.
Hodgson, with the Predators’ support at the time, furiously searched for the cause of his muscle issues, shortness of breath and liver problems. In the process, he was tested for brain cancer, lung cancer and liver cancer.
Eventually, Hodgson decided to get tested for malignant hyperthermia, a genetic disorder that various members of Hodgson’s family had contended with in the past — although not to this extent.
For most patients, malignant hyperthermia presents as an adverse reaction to general anesthetia. About 50 percent of those afflicted, however, including Hodgson, are also susceptible to exertion-induced reactions.
These reactions can be extreme, as they were in Hodgson’s case. The symptoms that presented sabotaged his ability to play professional hockey. At the time he was dealing with rhabdomyolysis, a type of muscle breakdown in which damaged tissue releases proteins and electrolytes into the blood that attack various organs.
“There was always an understanding among our family that if I had a car accident or got hurt on the ice, and couldn’t speak for myself, that I’d already let people around me know that I couldn’t use general anesthesia,” Hodgson said. “Trainers all knew, my teams all knew, my circle knew I had this thing that would matter if I had to go in for surgery, but we never put it all together.”
Once the source of Hodgson’s illness was identified, it was clear that he would have to retire.
It was a tough blow, but also a relief, given that many doctors who initially treated him suspected the source of his ailments might be terminal.
“Knowing I couldn’t play hockey sucked, but in the grand scheme of things, I knew that people deal with way worse,” Hodgson said.
For eight years, Hodgson was mostly away from the game. He was able to live a normal life, closely monitoring his exercise levels while working with the Predators organization in their Learn to Play program and building a career in real estate. He got involved in the RYR-1 Foundation to try and use his story to educate folks about his disease.
Publicly, Hodgson would occasionally give interviews and describe himself as lucky and at peace.
Cody Hodgson, seen here at a game at Bridgestone Arena in October 2015, last played in the NHL on Jan. 12, 2016. (John Russell / NHLI via Getty Images)
For those who knew him best, however, the way it had all ended was still a source of real pain. That desire to compete, to still play hockey, wasn’t extinguished.
“When he got the test and they found out what it was, that killed him,” said Wheeler. “That’s all he ever wanted to do: play hockey.
“He’s been sad for eight years. … He’d go to the park on a Saturday night and just shoot pucks at the local rink, just pushing the local guys. He’s just so passionate about it”
Occasionally, Hodgson would play. With some close monitoring of his creatine kinase (CK) levels, he was able to work out and attend an on-ice session once a week, often with Wheeler and his NHL clients — a group that, in the summer, includes NHL-level players such as Dylan and Ryan Strome and Mark Giordano.
Hodgson would push it on occasion. In at least one of those instances, his symptoms returned so harshly that he was hospitalized.
Then last summer, something flipped.
In May, Hodgson moved back to Ontario. His brother had just had a child and his sister was pregnant.
Going home to Canada, however, brought him close to the game he loved.
“It sounds kind of crazy, but everything kind of switched this summer,” Hodgson said. “My body started being able to respond to physical activity. I was going out with buddies and playing some hockey and I noticed that I could keep pushing it. Normally, when I skate, even in the summers just for fun, my body would have some of the symptoms I’d have when I was playing.
“Suddenly I realized I could respond a lot better. I didn’t need to shut it down right away, the same way I used to.”
Hodgson consulted with his doctors, including the University of Toronto’s Dr. Sheila Riazi, a leading academic anesthesiologist who has focused her research efforts on understanding malignant hyperthermia.
In consultation with his physician, Hodgson got the green light to monitor his symptoms and health while ramping up his exercise levels.
Through caution and some trial and error, an appropriate method of managing his illness was found, although he’s still under the close observation of his physician and gets his CK levels tested weekly.
“I got a little excited,” Hodgson said. “I’m always cautious, but I always told myself that if I had the ability to play I’d at least try.”
Hodgson started skating more regularly, first one session a week. Then two or three. And then three or four.
He put the call out to old teammates and pro-level players asking for an invite to their summer scrimmages. He’d join alumni games hosted by former NHL superstars like Eric Lindros, just looking for reps.
By early August, Hodgson was beginning to think about a comeback. And that’s when he enlisted the help of Wheeler.
“What is it going to take, Wheels?” he asked.
Wheeler told him, “You can do it if you want to.”
Hodgson called Wheeler “a driving force” in his training.
The first thing he insisted Hodgson do? Drop 40 pounds.
“In this business everything is first impressions,” Wheeler said.
Hodgson traveled to Florida for a noninvasive procedure called a disc seal to strengthen his back, an injury that had troubled him on occasion in his playing career. And then he went about shedding 40 pounds in two months, going from about 235 to under 200.
“Once I had a goal, a bigger purpose, it seemed to melt off,” Hodgson said. “I changed a lot of my eating habits, sleep patterns to give me more energy.”
Despite his sensitivity to severe temperature changes, Hodgson found a way to integrate cold tub recovery into his regimen. He got deeply into yoga, Wim Hof breathing exercises and various stretches to target his muscles. And in the early fall, he headed back to Ontario to work with Wheeler.
“Before, the harder I worked, the more my body broke down,” Hodgson said. “Now it’s completely flipped. Now the more I work the better I get, the more confident I get.”
Despite some early trepidation from his family, they “got on the bandwagon.” And Wheeler, familiar with the work rate of NHL players given his star-studded roster of clients, put Hodgson through the ringer.
“If he isn’t sick and hurting after those skates, he’ll never be sick and hurting,” Wheeler said. “I pushed him so hard that anybody else might quit hockey. And his body didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel bad. His muscles were good.”
By December, Hodgson was ready to get into game situations. The feeling was that there wasn’t much he could do to improve any further by simply training. He had to find a team.
Hodgson asked former NHL head coach Terry Crisp how to structure a professional tryout, how to manage his expectations, how to target getting back in the game.
He offered to pay his own way to practice with a minor league team in an effort to earn a professional tryout. His contacts put the word out, and Sportsnet’s Elliotte Friedman reported about Hodgson’s attempted comeback on “Hockey Night in Canada.”
Hodgson was overwhelmed by the response. He began hearing from old friends, former general managers and experienced hockey people offering advice. And eventually the call came in from a Predators organization that Hodgson knew well, offering him a spot on a tryout deal with the Admirals.
“(Admirals general manager) Scott Nichol, when I called him, I think he was a little bit skeptical to get that call at midseason,” Hodgson said. “I told him that I’d been training for a while and I’d love to get a chance, even if it’s just to come practice with them, then if they thought I could help the team they could sign me to a PTO.
“For him to take a chance like that and then push to put me on this team, it’s something I want to reward their faith in for sure.”
Hodgson showed up, 33 years old, eight years removed from his most recent professional game, with off-the-shelf gear and 10-year-old skates, and earned a spot. The club signed him to a professional tryout and had him take warmups before he actually made his AHL re-debut.
With his brother and brother-in-law in attendance, Hodgson stepped onto a professional ice sheet. And in the very first period of his very first game back, Hodgson broke a rib and bruised a lung.
“He told me he feels like he’s 17,” said Hodgson’s longtime trainer, Brad Wheeler, of his return to professional hockey. (Courtesy Milwaukee Admirals)
“Yeah, I was hoping it would go a bit smoother,” Hodgson said with a laugh.
“I played the rest of that game,” Hodgson said. “I moved some equipment around and then I played the next one. By the third game, I was having trouble breathing. So at first I thought, I just got back and I probably triggered this thing, but my CK levels were low, we tested everything. It was fine. … It was just a broken rib.”
Hodgson was concerned he would get cut.
The Admirals, however, were impressed by his toughness. Hodgson was just the kind of veteran they wanted to complement their young players.
Once he was cleared to return, however, the Admirals were on a double digit win streak. When The Athletic caught up with Hodgson in Winnipeg in mid-February, he was a healthy scratch.
“Our team is playing great, everyone is performing, so I understand it,” he said. “But when I get my chance again, I’ll be ready.”
Hodgson’s chance arrived five days later, the game in the Chicago suburbs when he scored his first professional goal in eight years. Two days later, he was in the lineup again and scored again — this time off the rush, a goal that showed real speed and skill.
“I don’t know how he’s doing it,” said Gravel of his teammate’s form after so many years away. “But we’re lucky to have him and he’s helped us out a ton.”
The next day, in the second leg of a back-to-back, Hodgson dressed again and scored again, extending his goal-scoring streak to three games. The game after that, he scored twice.
“He told me he feels like he’s 17,” Wheeler said. “He feels better and faster than ever. And every game I watch, he’s getting better every shift.”
And he’s back to doing what he loves.
“It’s just nice to be back in the rhythm of things,” Hodgson said. “You feel good when you’re scoring, but I want to keep going. A four-game scoring streak is great, but I want to keep pushing the envelope.”
(Illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic. Photos: left, Jen Fuller / Getty; other photos, courtesy Milwaukee Admirals)
Culture
Book Review: ‘Chernobyl, Life, and Other Disasters,’ by Yevgenia Nayberg
CHERNOBYL, LIFE, AND OTHER DISASTERS, by Yevgenia Nayberg
“You have to share many things with others … but what you remember belongs to you and you alone,” Yevgenia (Genya) Nayberg writes in the author’s note to her graphic memoir, “Chernobyl, Life, and Other Disasters.”
The elegantly composed pages of this moving story, told largely through Nayberg’s effervescent illustrations, make clear the special place she holds in her heart for memories of her childhood in Kiev (now spelled Kyiv), Ukraine.
It is 1986, Ukraine is still part of the Soviet empire, and the entire world is anticipating Halley’s comet. Yet there are more important things in Genya’s life than the approaching comet. She is 11 years old and preparing for the entrance exam to Kiev’s National Secondary School of Art.
Inspired by her mother, who is an artist, Genya loves to draw and paint. But there is an obstacle: The family is Jewish and the art school — like many schools in the former Soviet Union — accepts only 1 percent of Jewish applicants.
When Genya was 5, her grandpa, who lived through Stalin’s Terror, told her she should “not stick out in school.” He taught her to read using Pravda, which was filled with articles about imperialism and inflation — evil spirits that haunted her dreams. (Pravda and Izvestiya — The Truth and The News — were the two major newspapers in the Soviet Union, and everyone knew the joke that accurately reflected Soviet reality: There is no news in The Truth and no truth in The News.)
In first grade, Genya’s “Honorary Teacher of the Soviet Union” — as manipulative and sinister as the government she served — demanded unconditional love from the pupils in her class, going so far as to ask them to raise their hands if they were willing to give blood to her in the event she needed a transfusion.
The same year, in military training class, the children learned the pretending game: When Genya complained that the gas mask she was supposed to practice putting on, in case of an American nuclear attack, was too big for her face, the instructor replied, “Pretend that it fits.” Both teachers and students were to pretend that everything in the country was ideal, while they waited for the promised dawn of a bright Soviet future. Nobody knew then that the nuclear fallout would come not from across the ocean but from within.
Now it is spring and Genya is bored, painting Young Pioneers with red neckties (a Soviet national scout group) over and over again at the behest of the tutor who is helping her get ready for the July exam. She consoles herself with the thought that if she is accepted she can paint whatever she likes.
On April 26 there is an accident at the Chernobyl nuclear plant, 90 kilometers from Kiev, but there is no official information about the damage or even about the accident itself. On May 1, International Workers’ Day, everyone goes outside for a parade, as usual.
On the left-hand page of a double-page spread, Kiev, in Nayberg’s exquisitely wrought, soft-hued rendering, is “blooming like a giant cream cake with white, pink and purple chestnut flowers.” On the right-hand page, as if it were part of the same scene, Nayberg has drawn a stark picture of the Chernobyl nuclear plant, stamped with the word “RADIATION” in Russian, that makes it look like a colossal tombstone. “Like every year,” young Genya wryly comments, “it is a perfect day.”
In the absence of information, Genya’s family must rely on rumors. Her mother, the driving force in the book, adds iodine to the children’s milk and takes Genya and her 3-year-old brother 1,300 kilometers away to Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad), in Russia, to stay with their cousins.
As Genya bikes by the city’s many World War II monuments that depict victorious soldiers, she encounters “war survivors that never quite survived,” begging for bread. In Soviet Russia, it turns out, they play the pretending game, too.
In July, to their hosts’ horror, Genya and her mother return to Kiev for the exam that cannot be missed. The three-part test — two days for composition, two days for painting and two days for drawing — is grueling.
Happily for Genya and her repeated painting of Young Pioneers cheerfully performing selfless deeds, the theme of the composition portion is “In the Morning of Our Country.” Weirdly, this could be her ticket to freedom of expression.
Nayberg’s narrator is resilient, funny and ironic, observing her surroundings with an artist’s probing eye.
Her story gracefully brings to life the Soviet world — torn down in 1991 and recently resurrected by the latest Russian dictator — provoking thorny questions about different approaches to art, the cost of trying to conform and the complexity of family ties.
“Stories let us hold on to people a little longer,” Nayberg writes at the end of this tender memoir dedicated to her artist mother. Genya’s mom, and the rest of the characters in “Chernobyl, Life, and Other Disasters,” will stay with me for years to come.
CHERNOBYL, LIFE, AND OTHER DISASTERS | By Yevgenia Nayberg | (Ages 10 and up) | Neal Porter Books | 200 pp. | Paperback, $15.99
Culture
Book Review: ‘Cave Mountain,’ by Benjamin Hale
CAVE MOUNTAIN: A Disappearance and a Reckoning in the Ozarks, by Benjamin Hale
Benjamin Hale’s “Cave Mountain” begins as many true-crime stories do: with a missing girl. In April 2001, 6-year-old Haley Zega got separated from her family in the Buffalo National River Wilderness in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas.
Haley’s disappearance led to “the largest search-and-rescue mission in Arkansas history,” as authorities began to fear that she’d been abducted. But Haley was not kidnapped, or killed, or even harmed. She was found two days later, two miles away from where she’d gone missing, having simply gotten lost.
Though not itself a crime story, the incident clearly holds great significance for the author, a fiction writer who teaches at Bard and Columbia, and who is Haley’s cousin. Though he was in high school in Colorado at the time and not involved in the search, for him the memory recalls “the way things were in that brief period of time book-ended by the end of the Cold War … and the constitutional crisis of the 2000 presidential election.” Much of the book is steeped in nostalgia for this “never-such-innocence-again era.”
Haley’s disappearance serves as Hale’s personal way into the account of a horrific crime committed very near the spot where his cousin went missing. In 1978, two members of a small religious cult known as the Church of God in Christ Through the Holy Spirit, Inc. murdered one of their own, a 3-year-old girl whom Hale calls Bethany, because their teenage prophet claimed God had told him that “Bethany was ‘anathema’ and had to die.”
“Anathema” was the cult’s term for anyone who didn’t follow their highly specific interpretation of Christianity. They shot the girl eight times and buried her in a garbage bag stuffed into a bucket.
The author’s connections to this tragedy go beyond the geographical. Bethany’s mother, Lucy, who was a member of the cult and may or may not have been complicit in her killing, would later become friends with Haley’s grandmother Joyce, who’d taken Haley hiking that day in 2001 and was the last person to see her before she disappeared. Despite that case’s positive outcome, Joyce remained racked by guilt — a pain Lucy understood all too well. And Hale himself developed a friendship with Mark Harris, the teen prophet who ended up spending 40 years in prison.
Hale dives into the region’s history, including the Nixon administration’s forced displacement of residents via eminent domain in order to build a reservoir, to establish the “longstanding tensions between local residents of the area and the government, which they see as meddlesome, untrustworthy and incompetent.”
More relevantly, he provides some context about the rise of cults and religious and political extremism in America in the past century; but his version of political insight consists of bad-faith contrasts between the “extremely delicate constant censorious moral paranoia” of his classroom at Bard and the people he meets in Arkansas. “After that suffocating environment,” he writes of his mask-wearing, scarf-knitting, emotional-support-poodle-needing students, “my God was it a relief sometimes to be among the roughs, sounding their barbaric yawp.”
Repetition is inevitable, even necessary, in a work of nonfiction involving multiple story lines, but Hale reiterates some details too often, or too identically. He block-quotes his sources liberally in lengthy excerpts from personal interviews, email and text correspondences, court records, self-published memoirs and news articles, some of whose language he repeats either verbatim or with uncomfortable similarity in his own wording. For example, he reports three different times, once in a quote from a news article and twice in his own paraphrasing, that the police confiscated from Mark Harris’s cult “22 firearms” and around “2,000 rounds of ammunition.”
These repetitions, as well as Hale’s incorporation of so many threads that are irrelevant to the main one, start to feel like the author’s attempts to mask the fact that the cult crime story didn’t quite provide him enough material for a full book. The result is a mess of narratives and ideas, and as the pages turn it becomes clear they won’t gel into a satisfying whole.
CAVE MOUNTAIN: A Disappearance and a Reckoning in the Ozarks | By Benjamin Hale | Harper | 287 pp. | $30
Culture
Book Review: “Japanese Gothic,” by Kylie Lee Baker
JAPANESE GOTHIC, by Kylie Lee Baker
In 2026, Lee Turner flees to the centuries-old wooden house his father has just purchased in Kagoshima Prefecture, in southern Japan. He’s pretty sure he killed his college roommate back in New York, but he can’t remember how, or why, or what he did with the body. In 1877, a samurai-in-training, Sen, is hiding with her family in the same house after her father’s disgraced return from the failed Satsuma Rebellion.
Both carry heavy baggage. Lee is grieving the unsolved disappearance of his mother, who vanished during a trip to Cambodia a few years earlier, a suspected victim of sex trafficking. Sen idolizes her father and the samurai way of life, but he’s cruel and cold, even as he prepares her for what they both expect will be her death at the hands of the imperial officers who pursue him.
All is not well in this house, sheltered behind sword ferns. In Sen’s time, edible plants and prey animals have disappeared from the surrounding forest, and her family’s food supplies are dwindling fast. Lee can’t figure out what’s scratching at the walls of the house, or what his father’s girlfriend isn’t telling him. And then there’s the closet door in Lee’s room, which opens onto a concrete wall, except when it doesn’t. Sometimes, instead, it opens into Sen’s room in 1877.
Why can Sen and Lee visit each other’s times through the closet door, and why is it only accessible at low tide? Why can’t Lee remember what he did with his roommate’s body? What really happened to his mother? Did Sen’s father actually return from the rebellion that killed his fellow samurai, or is something else wearing his face like a mask? What brought Sen and Lee together, and what keeps them connected?
“Japanese Gothic,” Kylie Lee Baker’s second novel for adults (following last year’s “Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng”) is polished and surprising both in plotting and in execution. I’ve come to regard interesting, intricate structure as something of an endangered species in contemporary fiction — too many books are content to splash in thematic puddles rather than delving into deeper waters. But Baker has shown herself to be an author with the confidence and dexterity to carry a variety of story lines and ideas without stumbling; “Japanese Gothic” displays an elegant layering of character motivations, psychologies and motifs.
With dual-timeline stories, it’s easy for one story to overwhelm the other, but Lee and Sen’s narratives are well-balanced, and a Japanese folk tale provides some connective tissue between the two protagonists. As for the central mystery, Baker refrains from telegraphing exactly what’s going on until the final pages, and the reveal is a satisfying one. If the middle section drags a little in its pacing, it’s hard to hold that against the novel’s overall effectiveness.
Where “Japanese Gothic” really shines is in its mirrored portraits of two melancholy, isolated young adults. It’s difficult to create a character as damaged as Lee without letting his trauma overwhelm everything else about him. Lee moves through his life in a dissociative state partially fueled by Benadryl and Ativan. He has no friends, and his relationship with his father is strained at best. He knows things he can’t readily access, and the worst parts of his life haunt him from around corners and behind closed doors, but he’s kind and tenderhearted, not to mention capable and cleareyed when properly motivated.
Sen, meanwhile, knows her gender will prevent her from ever being fully accepted as a samurai, but still struggles to become the kind of fighter her father will be proud of. But allegiance to him comes with a cost: Her mother and siblings are afraid of him, and by extension, increasingly afraid of her, and not without good reason. Though Sen knows she has to harden herself to become a true warrior, she can’t quite shed the last of her humanity, nor is she entirely sure she wants to: “But her soul clung to her hands like tree sap, her fear screaming bright across the horizon every morning, shocking the birds away from the trees. It was her shadow, and it would not leave her, no matter how fast she ran.”
In a samurai house, Lee’s father’s girlfriend tells him, the ceilings are low to prevent a katana from being raised overhead to deliver a killing blow. Even so, the house behind the sword ferns has seen its share of violence, past and present. As strange similarities echo across Sen and Lee’s timelines, the truth emerges, jagged and harsh, yet cathartic. What connects these two characters is something deeper than romance and more tragic than death.
Japanese Gothic | By Kylie Lee Baker | Hanover Square Press | 352 pp. | $30
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